


Spook

by bouncymouse



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, One Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncymouse/pseuds/bouncymouse
Summary: Tifa is a spy working for Avalanche and has a job to do. Unfortunately, her target wants to play a different game.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Rufus Shinra
Comments: 22
Kudos: 37





	Spook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayelisa/gifts).



> This is for Mayelisa who won my 100 Twitter followers ficlet giveaway... This ended up being a lot longer than I originally intended, but the prompt (“I’m only telling you this because you won’t be able to tell anyone else.”) and the idea she gave me were both brilliant. My first foray into RufTi, I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

* * *

_ ~ “I’m only telling you this because you won’t be able to tell anyone else.” ~ _

* * *

It’s the fifth evening in a row Tifa’s waited at the bar, forearms resting on the polished walnut with a half-empty Midgar Martini on a coaster in front of her. The words _‘Junon Grand Hotel’_ stare up at her from the scarlet cardboard, as they have every other evening, reminding her she really can’t afford to finish the liquor in the glass. Fifteen gil a cocktail has hit her purse strings over the course of the week, and there’s only so many drinks Avalanche HQ will spring for.

She needs to stay sharp and she will, but tonight, she’s frustrated. The mission’s going nowhere. HQ reminded her of that fact earlier on, during the daily check-in from her room in the far less grand hotel they’ve put her up in. She sat and stared at the peeling, water-stained wallpaper while they questioned her ability, her drive, her commitment to the cause.

The words stung. _How dare they?_ How dare they wonder whether she's fit, whether her head's in the game? She, who lost so much at the hands of the Shinra Electric Power Company already? Sure, she’s a little wet behind the ears, but this is as much a chance to get even as it is to prove herself. If anybody deserves to be there, she does.

Tonight, she’s already finished two drinks, lining her stomach with olives skewered on cocktail sticks in the icy liquor. Tonight, Rufus Shinra is going to acknowledge her, whether or not he wants to.

Tonight, she’ll take him down.

He enters the bar a little after eight, following the routine she’s come to recognise. She doesn’t need to see the door to know he’s there. She hears the subtle change in the atmosphere, the lull in the conversations. When they pick up again, the voices are a little too loud, the laughter a little too forced.

Sure enough, when she glances over her shoulder the first thing she sees is the scarlet hair and black suit of his bodyguard, the man’s eyes narrowing as he scopes out the room, his nonchalant stance a few degrees shy of insubordination. 

Rufus takes a seat at a corner booth, dressed more casually this evening than she’s seen him. He’s unbuttoned the collar of his dark shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. When a server walks over to take his order he smiles at her, a touch of colour in his face, his blonde hair slightly less perfect than usual as though he’d run his fingers through it.

He’s here on business, Tifa knows. Tonight is his last evening at the Junon Grand before he heads back to Midgar and her window of opportunity slams shut. She fancies his deal was a success, her suspicions confirmed when the server returns with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. The girl fusses around him, setting up the ice bucket and popping the cork with a flirtatious giggle. It’s all Tifa can do not to roll her eyes.

She wonders who the second glass is for. Not the bodyguard, although she’s seen the man sneak sips from a hip-flask after Rufus retires for the evening. She’s watched him from the shadows, mapping out his routines and the opportunities she might exploit. There aren’t many. The Turks are every bit as thorough as Reeve warned they would be, and even this solitary black suit is causing her problems. The only way she’ll get close to Rufus is by his own invitation.

Tifa isn’t naive. She knows exactly how to get what she needs. Her time behind the bar in Sector Seven has left her skilled at crafting a cheery wink and coquettish smile should the need arise, and she’s a dab hand now at bottling up the way she really feels.

Tonight, she finally catches Rufus’ eye, and the pull is magnetic. It surprises her. Oh, he’s an attractive man, but he knows it and nothing about his upper-plate aesthetic should appeal to her. It does, though. She understands why the server was simpering around him. When his pale blue eyes snag on hers, he raises a thin blonde eyebrow, his mouth curving into a loaded smirk.

This is it, her opportunity. She holds his gaze a moment longer before turning away.

It’s a risk she’s willing to take. She knows all about the Playboy President. She’s met a hundred men like him before. They always want what they can’t have, and she can play hard to get with the best of them. 

She toys idly with the silver chain at her throat, playing with the glass pendant it carries. It’s cheap costume jewellery but Marle’s worked wonders with her dress, nipping in the scarlet satin here and there so it fits her like a second skin and looks a thousand times more expensive than it was. It’s more revealing than she’d like, the neckline plunging and it's slit a little too high in the thigh, but she’s worn every other piece in her arsenal and now she’s pulling out all the stops.

She can see him in the mirrored surface behind the bar. He’s watching her. She lets him, playing with her hair and taking her time finishing her drink. She looks over her shoulder when she pops the last olive in her mouth, savouring the bitterness. His throat constricts when he swallows, and she knows then that she has him.

Nerves spiral through her.

She calls over the server and settles her tab. Hands over her last fifteen gil. Before she’s even closed her purse, she smells stale cigarette smoke in the air.

The Turk. He obviously looks her up and down, eyes lingering far too long on her exposed cleavage, and she bites down the overwhelming urge to sock him in the nose. Instead, she smiles sweetly. Waits for him to speak.

“The President requests your company,” he drawls, hands jammed in his pockets.

“That’s a shame. I’m just leaving. Pass on my regrets, please.”

He laughs. “When the boss wants a drink with you, you drink with him, babe. If you know what’s good for you, that is…”

The threat hangs in the air. She doesn’t appreciate it, even though she’s laid the bait for the invitation.

“I see,” she replies pointedly, slipping from her stool. She forces a smile. “Maybe I can stay... Just for one drink.”

He grins. “That’s exactly the answer I wanted to hear.”

He steps aside and lets her pass. She can feel his presence in her peripheral and she tries to ignore it, resisting the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her skirt. Her heels ring out on the tiles as she crosses the bar, and Rufus watches every single step she takes.

“Good evening,” he says, as she approaches. “So kind of you to join me.”

She perches on the bench opposite him. Crosses her legs and doesn’t adjust the slit in her skirt. Rufus’ eyes travel along her bare thigh before settling on hers once again.

“Mr President… your bodyguard’s lack of manners is appalling.”

His eyes shine in the warm lights. “I can only apologise. Reno can be a little… crass.”

“If you wanted to drink with me, maybe you should’ve asked me yourself?”

Nerves and booze have made her bold.

“And what makes you think I wanted to drink with you?” he asks.

“Two glasses.” She smiles. “And your bodyguard doesn’t strike me as a champagne man.”

“No,” Rufus agrees. “His palate is definitely lacking. May I?”

He’s already reaching for the empty flute and the bottle from the ice bucket. Tifa nods, watching the bubbles shimmer in the pale gold liquid. He holds the glass out, and it’s sweet on her tongue when she takes a sip.

The bubbles tingle against her lips. They’re dangerous. She _has_ to keep her wits about her.

Rufus settles against the seat, arm draped along the back, long fingers drumming idly. “You already know who I am. You appear to have me at a disadvantage.”

“Jessie,” she lies smoothly. “Jessie Gainsborough.”

“Well, Ms Gainsborough…”

He holds out his hand. His fingers are cool when she shakes it. A shiver travels down her spine.

“Jessie, please,” she insists.

_“Jessie.”_ He releases her hand. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. What brings you to Junon?”

This should be easy. It’s a cover story she’s gone over and over in her mind. But somehow, this close, the words stick in her throat. His pale eyes are drilling into her and she can smell him, the woodsy scent of his cologne warm and rich in the air.

“I’m travelling to Icicle Inn,” she says, finally forcing her tongue to fit the words. “The weather’s poor over the Nibel Area… my transport’s delayed.”

“How unfortunate.” The way he says it suggests it’s not unfortunate at all, his voice low.

“I travel first thing tomorrow. Tonight’s my last night in Junon”

“Is that so?” He sips his drink, watching her intently. “How do you intend to spend your evening?”

“Oh…” She glances shyly at her glass, running her finger along the edge. There’s heat in her face that isn’t staged, born from the wicked look in his eyes. “I don’t know…”

“It’s my last evening here.”  He reaches for the bottle again. Tops up her drink. 

She takes another, smaller sip.

“Do you have plans?” she asks.

“Perhaps… I’m glad that I’ve finally gotten to speak to you, actually. I didn’t want to celebrate alone.”

“Why are you celebrating?”

He half-shrugs, as though it’s nothing. Tifa knows it isn’t. Rufus has his fingers in many pies and learning about them is almost as vital to her mission as killing him.

“We’ve signed off on a very lucrative business deal,” he explains vaguely. “It wasn’t easy. I fully intend to enjoy my evening.”

She tilts her glass towards him. “Congratulations.”

He mimics her gesture. The glasses _clink._

“What was the deal?” she asks, feigning interest.

“Come, now…” He smiles slowly. “Let’s not pretend that either of us is truly interested in that conversation.”

There’s that pull again, reeling her in. She watches, captivated.

“You’re an exquisite woman, Jessie. Allow me to lay my cards on the table.”

“Go on…”

“I'd like to take you upstairs and fuck you until those pretty lips are sighing my name.” He pauses, clearly gauging her reaction. “And I think you want me to.”

She forces herself to maintain eye contact. She can’t remember ever meeting anybody so arrogant. “Mr President—”

“Rufus. I insist.”

_“Rufus…”_ When she lifts her champagne flute to her lips, her fingers are trembling. This is the chance she needs to get him alone. “You’re right. I do.”

When she looks away, she sees Reno roll his eyes. She knows exactly what he’s thinking, that she’s one of the countless vapid flowers that temporarily grace his employer’s arm. If only he knew.

Rufus stands and drains his glass in one. Holds his hand out. “Shall we?”

She nods. Slips out of the booth and takes his arm. His stride is long, and she totters on her heels, struggling to keep up. She thinks she hears Reno make a comment under his breath as he falls in behind them.

When this is over, when she’s finished the job Avalanche sent her to do, she’s going to stick one of her stilettos in his scrawny little neck.

Rufus doesn’t speak on the way to the penthouse, not even when they step into the gilded elevator. Reno jabs the button for the top floor and whistles tunelessly, expression cocky and eyes facing forwards. The breathy tune is all she can hear apart from her heartbeat thudding in her ears. It’s hot in the enclosed space and her skin is clammy, her fingers sticky against Rufus’ arm.

He must be able to feel it. She’s shaking like a leaf. Any woman would be nervous on their way to bed the President though, and she can’t help but wonder if he could fulfil the arrogant promise he so casually made.

Sleeping with the enemy is very much not allowed, she thinks. Rufus Shinra represents every single thing she hates. It’s an intriguing idea, even so. Reeve would be furious, but there’s an aching heat at the apex of her thighs that demands her attention.

They step out of the elevator. Reno doesn’t follow them down the corridor, and Rufus barely registers that he’s lost his shadow.

“Good,” she jokes through dry lips. “For a moment I thought he was staying to watch.”

The corner of Rufus’ mouth twitches. “Unless you’d like him to?”

Her cheeks burn. “No!”

“Hmm… I thought as much.”

There’s more gold decorating the doorway of the suite, and the ruby carpet is plush beneath her heels. There’s a door that she knows is a fire escape to her left, but her only safe way down is back in the elevator. She needs to do this quickly, _cleanly_ , and be on her way out before the dog even realises its master’s dead.

Despite everything, she falters when he opens the door. The room is enormous, moonlight streaming through the vast windows and picking out ivory lilies in a vase on the table and the shimmery brocade on the sofa cushions. So much of the place looks untouched, but there’s a neat stack of files next to an empty tumbler on the coffee table and a suit-jacket folded on the arm of a chair.

She can’t see any cameras, but she doesn’t trust her eyes. Shinra could easily conceal them. There won’t be cameras in the bedroom, she knows. She just needs to lure him there and—

His mouth finds her collarbone and for a moment, her mind goes blissfully blank. He’s taking full advantage of the simple twist she’s pinned her hair into, trailing kisses to her ear, his breath hot and damp. He nudges her jaw with his nose.

“What am I going to do with you?” he growls. 

She flips through the rulebook in her head and tries to remember which part of her training over the previous five years entailed withstanding this type of torture. His kisses are slow, insistent. _Confident._ She wonders how far she’ll take this to get him where she needs him.

She wonders how far she _wants_ to.

“I don’t—” there’s a sensitive spot where her pulse flutters and his lips graze over it, “—ah, _Rufus…”_

“I have a few ideas,” he says.

His hands skim along her thighs and she can feel him, solid and warm at her back. He fists his fingers in the crimson satin at her hips and drags her more firmly against him. 

“I must admit, you’re a pleasant surprise.” His mouth dips lower. His voice is husky. “Ms Lockhart, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t hesitate. The knife is free of the sheath at her thigh in a heartbeat and pressed against his throat. Her eyes are dark and angry and all he does is flash that arrogant smile.

“And we were getting on so well…”

“How long have you known?” she demands.

“Since I first laid eyes on you. Though I must admit, I’ve enjoyed this little game we’re playing.”

Her blood boils. “And the Turk?”

“He won’t come.” Rufus tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “He knows I don’t need him.”

“That’s very cocky, considering I have a knife to your throat.”

“I assume you came here to kill me?” He smirks when she nods. “Of course. There are worse ways to die, I’m sure.”

Something about this is all wrong, and not just the fact he already knows who she is. He’s not phased in the slightest. She’s hyperaware that there’s at least one Turk in the corridor, and she doesn’t know who else is in the room. The oversight is appalling. How could she have been so stupid?

There’s a mole, she thinks. There must be. She’s been so careful every step of the way. He can’t possibly be this many paces ahead. Somebody has betrayed her.

She swallows hard. “How many are there?”

“Just Reno.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your prerogative.” He sounds bored. “Shall I spill my darkest secrets? The night’s still young, after all.”

She _wants_ him to talk. There are rumours Avalanche have heard, snatches of plans that they want confirming. Something’s going on in Wutai, something big, and this is her opportunity to blow it wide open. It was going to be the feather in her cap.

It was going to be her revenge. An eye for an eye. Rufus would pay for his father’s sins.

She flexes the blade. There’s a paper-thin cut, stark red against his pale skin. A bead of blood collects there. She watches his throat bob when he swallows and can’t help but imagine pressing her mouth to it.

Her knuckles are white on the hilt of her blade.

“Tifa… It _is_ Tifa, isn’t it? From Nibelheim?”

He’s showing off. Trying to rattle her. It won’t work.

“What you have to ask yourself is this,” he continues. “If I know who you are, why would I allow you up here?”

Adrenaline surges through her. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“I know you won’t kill me.”

“I will.”

“You want to hear what I have to say... To go back to your comrades and tell them you broke me.” His eyes are dangerous. “You want the glory.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Shall I let you in on a secret?” He raises his hand. Trails his fingers along her wrist despite the knife she holds. “And I’m only telling you this because you won’t be able to tell anyone else.”

There’s something intoxicating about his confidence. She knows he’s unarmed. He carries a gun and there’s no bulk beneath his fine shirt tonight that suggests he’s wearing a holster. Besides, she’s a damned sight faster than he is. All it will take is a flick of her wrist to end him, yet he stands before her with his charming smile and acts as though he’s the one with the power.

She’s the mouse, she realises, far too late.

His fingers tighten around her wrist. The move allows him to put space between his throat and the blade, but she could still stab him easily if she wanted. His blue eyes are liquid now, and she’s transfixed. _Drowning._ All she can think about is how the tiniest tilt of her head would let her capture his mouth, and her body is crying out for her to do it.

_Traitor._ She’s lightheaded, inhaling his cologne, his air, _him..._

“I own you,” he breathes. “I paid for the blade in your hand and the clothes on your back and the thoughts in your pretty little head.”

The words come from a long way away. A dull _thunk_ snaps her out of her reverie. She’s dropped the knife. Her hands are shaking.

“No.”

“Yes, Tifa.” He smiles, and this time it’s cold. “Did you ever wonder who bankrolls your precious morals? I _own_ you. And that’s why you’re going to walk out of this room and smile at my Turk, and you won’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Because you… your friends… your entire existence is _my_ lie. Do you understand?”

She nods dumbly. He leans forward, mouth brushing hers and for a torturously horrifying moment, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. She’s left hollow and confused when he pulls away.

“Good,” he says. “I have to cut our evening short… I have an early start in the morning.”

He crouches. Picks up the knife and reaches beneath the slit in her skirt to slide it back into the sheath she wears. His fingers linger a touch too long and he squeezes the back of her thigh before he stands.

_ “Why?” _

The question covers a lot of bases. He knows, though.

“Killing you would be messy and far less satisfying. This way, I have control. And it's good business to make sure your enemies are indebted to you.”

“You _bastard…”_

“Of course.” He slips a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Take a taxi back to your hotel. Charge it to the penthouse. Reception’s expecting you.”

It’s all she can do not to run from the room. Her heels sink into the carpet, slowing her escape, and she barely registers the dishevelled figure slouching at the end of the hallway. There’s too much to process.

She doesn’t want it to be true, but it _has_ to be. Why else would he let her go?

Reno presses the call button for the elevator, and she swears there’s pity in his eyes. 

“Don’t take it personally,” he mutters, as the doors purr open. “He owns us all, in the end.”

“Go to hell,” she hisses.

When the doors finally close, she crumbles.


End file.
